She shook her head — to my infinite relief — then turned away and fiddled with the branch she had been cutting up. ‘You don’t know who killed him?’
I shook my head. ‘I only wish I did. Do you know if he had enemies?’ It struck me that she had seemed somehow unsurprised, and a name might lead me to Minimus, of course.
She made a little uninterested face. ‘Not that I know of, mister. He was a gentle man — unless it was a matter of a gambling debt: they gave him a dreadful beating once before. And there was another day he was attacked — that time was because he’d given somebody false coin. He didn’t mean to; he’d been given fake silver and simply passed it on — never bothered to test it with his teeth, though I have shown him how to do it at least a dozen times. Of course, the man he passed it on to didn’t wait to hear all that, simply sent his slaves around to “teach the ugly cheat a lesson”, as they said.’ She broke off again. ‘But what gives you an interest in my unhappy son?’
I said, very simply, ‘He was murdered near my workshop, and whoever killed him has also made off with my slave, it seems — and, I’m afraid, with Lucius’s purse as well.’
She snapped a brittle twig between her hands. ‘So the money is all gone? And you discovered this?’ She did not meet my eyes.
It occurred to me that she might think I’d taken it. ‘Your son was on his way to see me, I believe, hoping that I’d buy another of his pies. I’d given him a tunic not very long ago.’
She did look at me then. ‘So you are the pavement-maker that he told me of? And that lovely tunic. What’s happened to it now? I suppose the army will have taken him away?’
I nodded.
‘It would have fetched something in the marketplace,’ she said in a defeated tone. I was secretly a little bit appalled by this turn of things — as if a few asses were more important than what happened to her son — but I reflected that perhaps if one has nothing in the world, a few copper coins may be life or death. But she shamed me for my thoughts. ‘I cannot even buy a taper to light before the gods.’
‘I did light candles at his head and feet, and called his name three times,’ I said, as though that made a difference.
It seemed it did. She gazed at me and said with obvious sincerity, ‘You are a good man, mister. I could have done no more myself. Thank you for treating him with some respect in death, and for being so kind to him in life.’ She reached out her wrinkled hands and grasped my own. ‘And thank you also for coming all this way to tell me of his death.’
I was embarrassed by this display of gratitude. ‘It was really nothing,’ I muttered, recognizing with guilt that this was true.
She pressed my fingers. ‘But you looked after Lucius. I will not forget. You come this way any time, pavement-maker, and you shall have a pie — gratis. That is, supposing that I ever bake again. Jove alone knows how I’ll manage for ingredients.’
I gave her the turnips. It was the least that I could do. This time it did bring tears into her eyes.
‘Bless you, mister. . or should I say “citizen”? Didn’t Lucius tell me that you held that rank?’
I nodded. Of course, I wasn’t wearing my toga at the time.
‘And to think that a proper citizen should have done all this for us! Jove bless you, citizen, a hundred times.’ She hugged the bag of turnips to her chest. ‘If there is ever anything that I can do for you — anything at all — I am at your service.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Provided I survive. I don’t think I care. Now Lucius has gone, I have lost the last thing that I had to live for in the world. I lost my husband and my business in the fire years ago. I think it was only worry about Lucius that kept me going.’
She was about to cry. I rather hoped she would — pent-up grief is worse than any tears — but I also hoped that she would wait till I had gone, or we should both be made embarrassed. ‘There is one thing that you can do for me,’ I said, in a weak attempt to deflect her from her tears. ‘I’d like to have the bag I brought the turnips in.’
It didn’t make her smile. ‘Of course. One moment, citizen.’ She rummaged behind her frowsty curtain and produced an iron pot — with one of its three legs missing, I noticed, and no handle on the top. ‘Lucius brought this home for me the other day — one of his customers made him a gift of it. I’ll put them in here, and you can have the bag. It is a good one and must be worth an as at least. I should have thought of it.’ She emptied the three turnips into the damaged cauldron as she spoke. I wished I’d never mentioned getting back the bag.
‘If you make turnip pies, I’ll buy one of them,’ I said. It didn’t sound a very appetizing meal, but it would be a more wholesome filling than had often been the case. ‘Or were you intending to make a meal of those yourself?’
She shook her head. ‘I hadn’t thought what I would do with them.’
Of course she hadn’t. Poor woman, she hadn’t thought of anything at all. But I had to press her. I said gently, ‘I want to find his murderer on my own account, you know. I think he has my slave. If anything occurs to you which might shed light on this, please come and let me know, for both our sakes.’
‘You asked if Lucius had any enemies — if I think of anything, I’ll come and find you at the shop. But unless he was gambling on the chariots again, honestly I can’t think of anyone at all.’ She stared down at the turnips as if she might find inspiration in the pot. ‘Yet I can’t believe that he’d gone back to it, after last time and what they did to him.’
‘And what was that? Took him to an alley and beat him to a pulp?’
She looked at me wryly. ‘Exactly, citizen. I nursed him for a week. And even that was not enough: they threatened him with worse if he did not contrive to pay the money back within a moon.’
‘And did he?’ I saw her face. ‘Or rather you did it for him, I suppose.’
She looked away. ‘Of course, I was a great deal younger in those days. I had to go and let them shave my head and offer my hair to a fancy wigmaker, as well as sell my only pair of shoes — and do other things I’d rather not admit — so we could pay them back. They’d have killed him otherwise.’ She shook her head. ‘Lucius never forgave himself when he found out what I’d done. I can’t believe he’d get involved with gambling again, however excited he was about his team.’
‘His team?’ I said startled. So he’d not just been a casual visitor, caught up in the excitement of the day. ‘Lucius followed the chariots enough to have a team?’
‘Not his own team, of course. He just supported them — or rather he dreamed of fame and fortune driving chariots. You do hear of people who manage to do that. I even had a brother who was sold into a team — my parents thought it would ensure his livelihood — and he showed some aptitude, before he broke his legs and turned into a cripple overnight. Then, of course, he was no use to the team and completely worthless in the marketplace. His slave price was so small that my husband bought his freedom with the profits from the pies.’
‘So you took care of him? That was most generous.’
She gave a weary smile. ‘We could afford it then. You would not believe we used to have a thriving business once. People even used to pay us to let them cook their food, in the heat left in the ash when we had finished for the day, not to mention the bread and pastries that we made to sell.’
I looked around at the ruins of her life and could make no answer.
She saw the direction of my glance and said, ‘But that was long ago, when we had proper fuel, and I could afford good flour and fine ingredients. And then there was the fire — and everything was burned. My husband and my brother with the rest, of course. I was forced to survive in whatever way I could — thank Jupiter the oven itself was made of stone, and I can still heat the oven if I can get the fuel, though I can’t keep it running the way we used to do.’ She sighed. ‘But Lucius was always passionate about his uncle’s team. That is how he lost the money last time, I’m afraid. I suppose he might have been sucked into it again.’